Oedipal Triangles
by Tracy Diane Miller
Summary: This very short story is based on the squash game scene in "The Wrong Man."


Oedipal Triangles  
  
Summary: This very short story is based on the squash game scene in "The Wrong Man."  
  
Disclaimer: Early Edition characters belong to whoever created them. No copyright infringement intended. No profit is being made. Some of the dialogue that appears in this story is not my own, but belongs to the writer of the Early Edition episode "The Wrong Man."  
  
Author: Tracy Diane Miller E-mail address: tdmiller82@hotmail.com  
  
Oedipal Triangles  
  
With a powerful swing born from the emotional overload of recent revelations, he sent the ball soaring through the air before it pounded forcefully into the wall. Then, the ball was back again for more of the same punishment.  
  
His sweatshirt was drenched in sweat. But this "workout" was something he needed to quiet his troubled spirit. It's not everyday a guy learns that his ex-spouse has quickly become engaged to his ex-boss, a man who took sadistic pleasure in making his life miserable. She argued that she loved the man and that they were good together. Yet, he saw the pending nuptials as the financial merging of two dynasties. Love...no....not love. She seemed too desperate trying to convince him (or maybe herself) that she was in love. He wasn't sure whether she or Pritchard even knew the meaning of the word. But what she did was no longer any of his business, he told himself. He had closed that chapter of his life. Playing squash with Chuck would be good and then he and Chuck would meet Marissa later at McGinty's.  
  
But Chuck couldn't make it to the squash game. That was just his luck. He was told that a single was available if he were interested. Sure. He didn't expect the single to be Pritchard. Maybe he shouldn't have agreed to play squash with the guy, but he wasn't about to let Pritchard drive him off of the court.  
  
It was just a game; he could handle it.  
  
With that sickening smug expression that was Pritchard's trademark, the broker strutted into the room like a self-absorbed peacock with its feathers fully expanded, his overblown ego holding the air hostage.  
  
It was just a game; he could handle it.  
  
But Pritchard's intentions seemed to be more than a simple game of squash. It seemed that he had been challenged to some kind of duel. They weren't using pistols or swords, of course, nor neither meeting at dawn, nor selecting seconds. They weren't even defending a lady's honor. It was too late for that anyway. Yet, it was still a competition testing male bravado. The prize was uncertain. But he had definitely been challenged to some kind of duel. That much he was certain.  
  
Pritchard started quick and merciless telling him that a place could be found for him if he wanted to rejoin Strauss & Associates. "I'll think about it." He responded simply (and insincerely). He continued hitting the ball and scoring points. He concentrated on the game as he swung his racquet again, hard, at the ball sending it flying into the wall. The stubborn ball quickly rebounded towards Pritchard. Pritchard missed the shot.  
  
"One. Nil." He said, a satisfied expression on his face.  
  
The egomaniac broker missed the next shot.  
  
"Two. Nil." He confirmed.  
  
Pritchard became more aggressive with the verbal duel utilizing a "me and Marcia" strategy designed to distract and disarm.  
  
It was working.  
  
He became distracted and started missing shots. He fell to the floor during one missed shot and plummeted against the wall during another.  
  
It was just a game; he could handle it.  
  
The mention of a future litter of pompous baby Pritchards unleashed the anger within him. The duel was becoming more desperate and Pritchard was demonstrating a frightening finesse.  
  
Still, he continued playing, his own strategy to ignore the torment and focus on the ball. He swung the racquet at the ball, captured the ball as it bounced off of the wall and flew towards him, and swung again.  
  
Then it happened. As he moved quickly to make another shot, his elbow unintentionally connected hard with Pritchard's face. The broker fell to the floor with a resounding thump. Blood squirted from Pritchard's nose. Duel over.  
  
He never meant to hurt the guy; it was an accident. It was Pritchard who had started the verbal duel. It was Pritchard who wanted to "keep score" by highlighting his failings. All he wanted to do was play squash. He had no warring id and ego, just a racquet and a ball.  
  
It was just a game; he could handle it.  
  
Maybe not.  
  
The End. 


End file.
